#whatdoicallthis

#and #what #isitcrossstitch #orisitembroidery #longstitch? #whatdoicallthis 🧐🤭😬 (at London, United Kingdom)

Her face said she wasn't when she said, "Fine," and slid another whiskey across the bar which I took outside with my smoke in dry silence under the wood awning where I tumbled my suspicions smooth until they shone behind the eyes that saw her ask me for a light and for a forehead-kiss before she broke into confession of, "He's booked, you know," which I did (months before she'd mentioned the probation broken, the court date, the hopeless odds), and I said so, so she shook out a yellow coil of smoke and crescendoed, threads loosening: Trey webbed with a dozen others, and her—what of Grace while he was banging them and as he bangs his head on cell walls while the cell of him bangs round her belly and when he fires, bang, a plea for mercy at her walls, what of his loves-not—crumbling in the arms of her loves-not—or what of the sky's blind eye squinting at wreckage in the dark?